They were crossing the Pont Neuf; her attention was held by a line of barges. When they had reached the farther bank, he reminded her, “You were going to tell me——”
He glanced at her dress. “Was it really for me that you did it?”
She nodded. “For you. I’m so artificial; I’m not ashamed of it. But until I saw you in Eden Row, I didn’t realize how different I am. In New York—well, I was in the majority. It was you who felt strange there. But in Eden Row I saw my father. He’s like you and—and it came over me that perhaps I’m not as nice as I fancy—not as much to be envied. There may even be something in what Mrs. Sheerug says.”
“But you are nice.” His voice was hot in her defense. “I can’t make out why you’re always running yourself down.”
She thought for a moment, brushing him with her shoulder. “Because I can stand it, and to hear you defend me, perhaps.—But it was for you that I bought this dress, Mees-ter Deek. I tried to think how you’d like me to look if—if we were always going to be together. And so I’ve given up my beauty-patch. And I won’t smoke a single cigarette unless you ask me. I’m going to live in your kind of a world and,” she bit her lip, inviting his pity, “and I’m going to travel without trunks, and I’ll try not to be an expense. I think I’m splendid.”
They drew up at the Luxembourg Gardens and dismissed the fiacre.
A band was playing. The splash of fountains and fluttering of pigeons mingled with the music. Seen from a distance, the statues of dryads and athletes seemed to stoop from their pedestals and to move with the promenading crowd. They watched the eager types by which they were surrounded: artists’ models, work-girls, cocottes; tired-eyed, long-haired, Daudetesque young men; Zouaves, chasseurs, Svengalis—they were people of a fiction world. Some walked in pairs—others solitary. Here two lovers embraced unabashed. There they met for the first time, and made the moment an eternity. Romance, the brevity of life, the warning against foolish caution were in the air. For all these people there was only one quest.
They had been walking separately, divided by shyness. In passing, a grisette swept against him, and glanced into his eyes in friendly fashion.
“Here, I won’t have that.” Desire spoke with a hint of jealousy. She drew nearer so that their shoulders were touching. “Nobody’ll know us. Don’t let’s be misers. I’ll take your arm,” she whispered.
“The second time you’ve done it.”